


Not The Melancholic Sort

by myhamartia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Melancholy, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamartia/pseuds/myhamartia
Summary: Often times odd moods are sprung on one thing or another. Cap was subject to these often, being in battle and high-stakes missions most days.But today was a day like no other, and the trigger for his mood was the last thing he would have suspected. A sandwich.





	

Steve was not the melancholic sort. He wasn’t the type to contemplate the wonders of the dark universe and how every spiritual being in existence made it their personal vendetta to make his life (what was that expression Peter constantly used? Oh yes) _suck_.

    Steve Rogers was _not_ the type to randomly get caught up in his head with his emotions and tired, old memories swimming around him like a dry cocktail of suffering.

    That was another thing. All of this complaining, silent though it was. This “I should be pitied; I have ever so many problems,” attitude. It wasn’t him; he didn’t know where it all came from.

    The match that triggered this whole ordeal wasn’t even justified. There was no huge battle where he saw his life flash before his eyes like a slow-moving motion picture. There was no epiphany, no midlife crisis, that he knew of.

    It was a _sandwich_.

Yes, even to him, it sounded stupid and unlikely.

    He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want the thing. It was scrawny, with barely any meat to speak of. It was sad, made with wilted lettuce and questionable cheese. He was sure that it wouldn’t have been filling, it was simply tin. Little more than a snack.

    Nonetheless, his mind began to draw similarities between the sandwich and himself.

    The theft of his sandwich made him think back to that time, almost a century ago, now, when he was chosen to be “Captain America.” A super soldier. He had been chosen out of _so many_ , all because he was pathetic.

    In that time, he, himself, was scrawny little nobody with too-big dreams of serving his country, that were utterly unavailable to him.

Pathetic.

    Even after the transition, when he was all souped up and ready, _finally ready_ , to live out his dreams, he was still pathetic. Useless. Used by the US government as little more than a glorified show heifer.

    He remembered, soberly, those soldiers of the 107th. Their grim faces still chilled his very core.

    Steve has seen many faces with the very same expression. People left to cope with the aftermath of one of their battles, loved ones grieving over those lost in one of their battles on city streets. It was so distraught. So… painful.

    He felt it in his chest, like some sort of hole, or pocket always closing in on itself and trying to drag every bit of sanity Steve had left down with it.

    Some days, he asked why. _Why_ did it have to have been him? Surely someone else would have been better - there’s always someone better, more suited to the job. He knew, somewhere deep down that it wasn’t supposed to be just him. He was their first runner. Their first test subject in a series of what was to be dozens. Before it all went to hell in a handbasket, he had been simply the first. Test number one in the first batch of super soldiers.

    He wasn’t special, not like he had the gall to hope.

    When those first plans went up in flames, he was given a reality check.

    Eventually, he was able to live his dreams as Captain America. He supposed… that in the beginning, he hadn’t thought of the guilt, the pain, when dreaming - no,  _fantasizing_ about being America’s hero, someone his mother would be proud of.

     He hadn’t thought of the horrific things he had ended up seeing. Things that have been burned into his mind, robbing him of sleep and rest.

    He hadn’t thought of the responsibility that came with the shield. That he was always going to be Captain America. He was always needed. There wasn’t a moment’s rest.

    But that wasn’t an issue. He could deal with that aspect. He would shoulder it without complaint.

    The fact nagging on his mind was this: even when he tried to good, there was always a darker side of things.

    It seemed that there was never a time where civilians weren’t caught in the crossfire.

    New York, DC, Sokovia. All resulted in massive civilian deaths. Innocents.

    Captain America, defender of good, couldn’t save them. Pathetic.

    The word was heavy in his thoughts, but it was the most accurate. It was the one that bit into his insides, making them twist with so many negative emotions that he couldn’t think straight.

    He took in a breath and decided that he may have stood in front of the refrigerator for far too long. He stepped back, looking away from the spot on the glass shelf where his plated sandwich once rested.

    Steve closed the fridge, his appetite gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop me a comment | Tumblr is @peanutbutterandbitter!


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